


WIP's I Am Never Ever Going To Finish

by rageaceus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageaceus/pseuds/rageaceus
Summary: these lil shits have sat in my documents for almost a year and i just!!!!!!! cant fuckin finish them! heres all my wips in one friendly folder
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Reader, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)/Reader, Crowley (Good Omens)/Reader, Hanzo Shimada/Reader, Jesse McCree/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. Crowley Fingers Himself

So. This was it.

Crowley lay on his throne, one leg hooked around an arm and the other nearly falling off the seat. His fingers softly, nervously stroked around his folds, spreading little bits of wetness on his skin. He hummed, deep in his throat, before his fingers finally traced against his clit. 

His hips jerked against the throne, and a small whine escapes from his chest.  So much time passes between these sessions of his, where he would lounge for days and do nothing but masturbate, that he forgets how sensitive he’s rigged his clit to be.  Again, he repeats the action, slower and lighter this time. The pleasure thrums through him, and he can already feel his abdomen begin to tense. He brings his index and middle finger down to his opening, gathering the wetness that had dripped from him already, bringing it up to smear around the hood of his clit. He gasps, wetly, at the slick sounds his fingers make as he rubs his clit between his fingers.

“Hah! Oh, yessss…” He hisses, as his movements become more frantic, hips minutely thrusting up, until he’s fucking his clit against his fingers, moans coming out so loud he’s glad he had the foresight to miracle his walls soundproof. His free hand grasps tightly at an arm on the chair as he comes, toes curling against the air and the hard tile of his floor. He throws his head back and lets out a long whine from between clenched teeth, feeling little drops of his own cum escape him, trickling down his skin and onto the velvet of the chair. 

By the end of it, he’s trembling, just using his index to lightly circle his clit, little pants echoing around the room. Crowley relaxes into his throne, closing his eyes and grinning as he starts to work his hips against his clit once more. He’d rigged his system to ignore the already minuscule refractory period of the vagina, and could go for hours without stopping. Lucky for him, he had nothing to do for the rest of eternity. One of his fangs nicked his lip as he grinned wider, before shuddering as he came once more.




Hours later, when the sun had dipped below the horizon and Crowley’s living room had been illuminated in a rare, clear night, the Serpent of Eden was still at it. He’d only just begun that morning, after all.  Cum had dripped from his cunt and across the throne, and over the floor as he’d fingered himself to completion too many times to count, with only a small twenty minute break sometime during sunset.

At the moment, Crowley was writhing against the chair with pleasure, loudly moaning as his fingers thrusted in and out of himself, jackrabbit quick.


	2. A/B/O Dynamics OVERWATCH BABAYYYYYYY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wip of an a/b/o mccree/hanzo/reader i'd forgotten abt.
> 
> in this, bonds that are strong enough can kill a person if left abandoned and unbroken. a lil weird, but just trust me on this. im a sucker for life or death situations involving love

It began with a croon.

Really, it didn’t  _ begin _ with the croon. It had been steadily building up over weeks, months, the attraction drawing you two closer.

Jesse and you had gotten into a fight nearly six months ago. You didn’t think anything of it, after all, you’d both made up. You’d exchanged your ‘I love yous’ and your own noises, falling asleep to an easy rhythm. But the next day Jesse had been on edge, and the two of you had lightly argued before bed. You apologized and made up by the next morning, but things still felt tense. Days of tension turned into nights of arguing, and every night you got farther and farther away from making up. Weeks turned into months, and the arguments turned into full on yelling matches. Never in your past relationships had you yelled at a mate, but there’s a first for everything, you suppose.

Two months into this tension, this fighting, Jesse left. Sometimes it would be for the night, stumbling back home at four in the morning piss drunk, even though he knew you hated drinking and everything to do with it. Sometimes he would take week long missions just to leave you at your job on base, even though you saw he could have picked much shorter ones. But those you could excuse, for he had a rough night. He needed to go on those missions. He didn’t have time to fully scent mark you, being the busy man he is. He has to save the world, after all.

One day, Jesse left completely. No missions scheduled, no bar in town, you’d looked. Your heart ached and your head pounded, but you kept looking. You wanted to apologize, to finally talk out this disruption, to figure out the cause.

You couldn’t find Jesse. Your Alpha. The one who made breakfast in bed for you after your first mating, nuzzling you softly and letting his beard hairs tickle you. Your Alpha, who took it as his duty to scent mark you every two days, rumbling deep in his chest and rubbing your glands together. Your Alpha, who sat on the other side of the bed, away from you, when he used to be so warm and comforting. 

After the first week, you brought out the body pillow you cuddled when he was gone. It helped a little, giving your tired body something to grab and love, rubbing your scent into it as if it was McCree. After the first month, you accepted he wasn’t coming home. Your sobs soaked the pillows, the concerned knocks of your friends being the only thing getting you up in the morning.

They looked at you with pity, the poor Omega whose Alpha had abandoned them. They helped you eat, making sure you had the nutrition you needed. You weren’t hungry, just pushing even your favorite foods around the plate otherwise. Mei helped you get outside, trying to cheer you with your favorite trips to Gibraltar’s Planetarium. The wonders of space would distract you from the empty pain in your chest for a half hour at most, entranced with the beauty and complications of the planets and stars. Soon, it would fade, and you would be hollow once more.

Everyone on base tried to help you. Mercy prescribed vitamins and antidepressants and offered therapy, but it was hard enough eating as is. Hana invited you to play video games with her, a communal video game night once being your favorite event, now simply background noise. Lucio would play you music, boosting your mood just slightly, sometimes the familiar tunes catching onto your soul and dimming the pain you felt from your fracturing bond. Lena ran with you, Genji and Zenyatta meditated with you, Winston taught you about the planets in more detail than the planetarium could offer. 

But Hanzo was the one who sat beside you. He did not force you to move, or speak, or even look at him. He simply stayed with you, whether or not it was emptiness or desperate rambling about the workings of a videogame just to feel something, anything. He made you tea and did not frown when it got cold. He held your hand and did not complain when you gripped it too tight. He did not require excuses or the truth, just your presence.

But your bond with McCree kept fracturing.

Without your Alpha to close the bond, your body is shutting down. You are sicker and weaker every day, your once careful routine now in shambles. Your room is filthy, your bathroom unused, and you’re developing bedsores. Your sheets reek of body odor and stale urine, not having enough energy to get up anymore. You have not eaten in days. You have not felt in months.

It is Hanzo who finds you, returning from a week long mission to find you in your room, coated in all sorts of bodily fluids and breathing almost absent. He hoists you out of bed and carries you to Angela as fast as he can, uncaring about the stink that sinks into his clothes. 

Angela operates on you immediately, hooking you up to life saving machines. The IV pumps fluids and nanoboosters and drugs into your system, but you can’t feel it. All you can feel is the emptiness, and the occasional strumming of the bond as it cracks. 

For all the pain you’re going through, you miss your Alpha. It consumes you, occasionally welling inside you until your howls wake the base. Your hands tear out your hair, and your IV’s keep getting yanked out of your system. Every time, it is either Angela or Hanzo putting them back in, neither having the heart to reprimand you. You wouldn’t hear it, in any case. Your thoughts were too consumed by Jesse.

Genji leaves to find McCree, and drag him back to break the bond properly. The base sends you cards and presents and flowers, and when you smell the Jasmine something in your stomach gives a quiet sound, snuffed out quickly by the never-ending depression.

You are on your near deathbed when Angela suggests it. A last resort for you to stay alive long enough, Genji and McCree only six hours away on a plane heading for Gibraltar. Another Alpha’s croon, while incredibly personal, may just fool your weakened body enough for it to start producing life-saving hormones. No Alpha knew you well enough to do it. Except for Hanzo.

Angela leaves the room to give you two privacy, shutting the door quickly. He leans down, face brushing up against the side of yours. You don’t even twitch, just blink slowly. He smells you, underneath the illness and the rotten scent of an infected bond, he can still catch the barest edges of  _ you _ . 

Hanzo croons. He croons deep and low and full of every feeling he’s ever had for you, rubbing his cheekbone against yours.

**_You’e precious_ **

**_You’re perfect_ **

**_You’re not mine_ **

**_You’re beautiful_ **

**_You delight me_ **

**_You’re McCree’s_ **

**_You are ill, what is wrong?_ **

**_Why do you not eat_ **

**_Why do you not sleep_ **

**_You have stopped talking to me_ **

**_Please, I need you_ **

**_Please I love you_ **

**_Please, come back_ **

It makes you gasp, chest heaving as your heart rate spiked, Your entire body went into overdrive, compensation for the time missed with it’s supposed Alpha. Hanzo continues to croon, rubbing your arms, mindful of the scabs that ran across your body. It spoke of unallowed love, of undying loyalty and a need for protection. It smelled of rainstorms and jasmine flowers. It tasted like a cup of tea on a stormy night. It was filled with  _ Hanzo  _ and yet your body still replied.

Angela and Hanzo worked overtime, the good doctor forcing liquid vitamins and blood into your veins to support the sudden actions. Hanzo kept vigil by your side, rubbing his entire upper chest against you, scent marking you as lightly as he could. 


End file.
